Fooling the Devil
by ab ovo
Summary: His breath was colder than his skin, and Death was not far behind. A Grindelwald sympathizer finds herself caught in Tom Riddle's web of madness. {TMR/OC}
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Entry lengths pick up after chapter two.

* * *

There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

She was the helpless little mouse in the cat's den, scurrying frantically from her predator's gleaming, fanged grin.

But all cats do love to toy with their prey, savoring the sweet sounds of terror and defeat pounding in their veins. The game wasn't over just yet.

Evelyn almost wept as she took a wrong turn into a dead-end corridor.

"I did what you asked me to do!" she cried, refusing to meet his penetrating gaze.

All too soon, his shadow passed over her. Cornering her.

"I don't _ask_, my dear… I command," he whispered, running an icy finger down her neck. "Now, obey."

His breath was colder than his skin.

* * *

_I am Death_

_and there's nothing you can do_

_For I am your shadow_

_and we're not quite through_

_Oh, many have tried_

_That you already knew_

_They're great company, I assure you_

_so keep stirring that brew_

_Boy!_

_Yes, with the wand of yew_

_I'll be watching you_

_for I have seen your fate_

_and it certainly is..._

_déjà vu_


	2. Chapter 2

Evie was seven years old when strange things began to happen. Well, it wouldn't be fair to say that those happenings were in fact strange, but they certainly would be to your average Muggle bystander. Those peculiar incidents were both anticipated and welcomed by her mother and father with open arms. What parent would want their daughter to grow up a Squib? Even for forward-thinking folks such as themselves, a wandless Montagne would surely be a blight to the family line.

That's not to say that strange things _didn't_ happen at the Montagnes'. Even by wizarding standards, Abel and Sarah Montagne had a mountain of skeletons in their closet.

* * *

_Oh, Sarah, I have to say_

_Tick tock, tick tock_

_Time's really leading you astray_

_You see, one can't just knock_

_on Death's door and play_

_with their dear husband's cock_

_Do you see what I'm trying to convey?_

_Somehow it wasn't quite a shock_

_when your barely born children fell prey_

_to the pruning of the family stock_

* * *

Although the International Statute of Secrecy had cast a veil of obscurity over the wizarding world, Muggles and wizardkind still couldn't quite shake each other away. A Muggle probably wouldn't tell an impatient annoyance to hold his hippogriffs, but the basic idea was there; commanalities existed between two seemingly very different groups of people.

_"La nouvelle pureté…!" _The new purity. "_Les parvenus...!" _The newcomers.

Certain things really were universal. Old money looked down on new money, and old blood turned its nose up at new blood.

"What do they mean, Maman?" asked Evelyn, peaking behind her mother's dress robes. Jade beads adorned the soft fabric, gently clicking together as the little girl tugged.

Sarah narrowed her eyes at a tittering group of women occupying a corner across the newly refurbished ballroom. All of them had an air of self-importance, undoubtedly a product of their element. Ancient blood ran in their veins; their similar facial structures were no surprise. Although Abel and Sarah had no Muggles in their lineages for three generations, Montagne blood just wasn't clean enough for high pure-blood society. Wealth, however, still spoke volumes. Even newfound wealth.

"Nothing, ma bichette. Run along now. It's getting late."

_My little doe..._ Evie pouted at the term of endearment. No, she was seven years old, not a little girl! "But -"

_"Now._ Don't make me ask again."

Mrs. Montagne rarely used such an unyielding tone, so Evie knew arguing would be futile. Instead, she huffed past everyone in attendance, scowling at the ladies swathed in silk and furs. Grownups liked to think children didn't pick up on such things. Oh, but she did! Who were they to say that she wasn't good enough?

* * *

Tonight was a sleepless night.

Time passed unbearably slowly. Surely the clock at her bedside was faulty! It seemed as though the racing thoughts in her mind had bound Time to train tracks immediately after the race commenced. Each _tick_ and _tock_ echoed loudly in her ears.

"...there is no point in us staying here, Abel..."

Evie bolted upright, latching her eyes on her bedroom door.

"...the old families will not accept us. You saw how it was earlier! They're only here to get their greedy goblin hands into your vault. The nerve of them! And to think they act like we should be grateful they graced us with their presence -"

"So what do you propose?" her father's weary voice cut in.

Their voices were hushed, but old halls too often betray the whisperer. Holding her breath, Evie crept closer; she could see candlelight flickering under the door.

"Reddington at the British Ministry has been offering you that position for months -"

"We can't just get up and move -"

"Why not?" she pressed on. "Our blood is pure enough for _them_. The older pure-bloods are dropping like doxies, and the younger ones aren't breeding."

"That's not what I meant, Sarah."

"Our daughter is still very young, and the young are more...pliable. Just think of what a proper upbringing could do for her future!"

Sarah Montagne had been a vixen in her day. From an early age she'd learned to get what she wanted. And so, it was no surprise to her when her husband soon became Head of the Office of Misinformation, a vital force against the growing shadow of Grindelwald.


End file.
